


I, I Will Be King

by proawler



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy setting, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones setting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sexual Tension, Slightly slow burn, flower baby robbe, insomniac sander, its adorable, lots of pining, robbe as a tyrell, robbe is beautiful as always, sander as a targaryen king, sander has a crush, will update tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proawler/pseuds/proawler
Summary: Sander had spent his whole life working towards the Iron Throne. But now that he had it, he still felt like he was missing something.He was lonely. And alone with his thoughts was the last place Sander wanted to be. He had no interest in becoming the next Targaryen to be known as the Mad King.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 11
Kudos: 93





	1. Flight

There were moments, flying high above King’s Landing on the back of his dragon, when Sander felt the most like himself. When it was just him and the wind and the limitless sky, so far above the world that his title meant nothing, that there was nothing tying him down. It was in these moments that he truly felt free.

Sander was feeling it more than ever tonight.

He had raced into the skies as soon as he was able after dinner with the Lannisters. Their company was a necessary evil, now that he was engaged to Britt, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. Sander hadn’t understood why he had to marry in the first place, but his council had all told him the same thing: that an alliance with the Lannister’s was too powerful an opportunity to pass up. After all, he hadn’t come this far just to lose it all now.

And he had come far, from hiding in the furthest reaches of Essos so many years ago, to now sitting on the Iron Throne. He was Sander Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Six Kingdoms. The King of Fire, they called him. He finally had everything he had ever wanted.

So why didn’t it feel like enough?

Sander had spent his whole life working towards the Iron Throne. But now that he had it, he still felt like he was missing something. There was an emptiness inside of him, a hole that couldn’t be filled with power or victory. Sander was the last Targaryen. He had no one—at least, not in the way that mattered.

He was lonely. And alone with his thoughts was the last place Sander wanted to be. He had no interest in becoming the next Targaryen to be known as the Mad King.

The wind ripped through his silver hair, chasing the dark thoughts from his mind with every second he kept flying. This was where he wanted to be—soaring through the skies on the back of a dragon, like the Targaryen he was. The Lannister’s, Britt, they could all wait. For the moment, Sander just wanted to feel alive.

Before he even realised, the sky turned from orange to pink to midnight blue, small clusters of stars appearing all around him. How long had he been in the air? Sander flew closer to the ground and found that he’d gone much further than intended while lost in his thoughts, spurred on by the rush of adrenaline and the Targaryen blood burning through his veins. He’d flown as far as The Reach; there, in the distance, was Highgarden—home to House Tyrell. They were allies of the throne, at least, it was safe to stop nearby and let his dragon rest before flying back home.

Sander slowed as he approached the castle, flying low enough that the Tyrell’s were well aware of his presence. It was hard to miss him, a white haired king on the back of a huge black dragon, but he didn’t want to seem like a threat by speeding past overhead.

As he passed over the gardens, Sander couldn’t resist slowing even further. In the moonlight, the gardens were even more beautiful than in the day, a stunning array of flowers spanning the length of the castle walls. There were flowers of every colour down there: bright blossoms of red, swathes of yellow, whorls of purple and blue, all of them glowing in the light of the full moon.

But as he leaned closer to the ground, something caught his eye. There was movement among the flowers, more than just the sway of stems in the night breeze. It was a person—no—a young man, his dark hair washed with moonlight as he leaned down to pull weeds from the ground.

There was something so very wonderful about that sight, a beautiful boy tending his garden even in the black of night, that Sander couldn’t help but dip lower, desperate to see the stranger’s face. He was lucky, or maybe his dragon was just too loud to ignore, but the young man looked up at the king flying overhead. And just for a moment, despite the darkness and the space between them, their eyes met.

It was just a glance; it had barely lasted a second, even, but as the moment passed one simple though stuck in Sander’s head.

_He has beautiful eyes._

And then Highgarden was behind him, and the boy, whoever he was, was gone. Sander touched down outside the castle walls, his heart racing as he climbed down from his dragon’s back and turned back towards the gardens, towards that elegant face, radiant among the flowers and the moonlight. He wondered if he would ever see him again.

But those were not the worries of a king, and Sander had far more important things to think about. A world away, Britt Lannister sat waiting to become his wife—his queen—a truth he could not avoid for much longer. And the noise in his head grew louder with each day.  
  


It was a long flight back to King’s Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was inspired by some amazing headcannons on tumblr. I'm not sure yet how long it's going to be, but I'll try to update as often as I can :)
> 
> Feel free to stop by my tumblr @sander-schmander
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'd love to hear your feedback :)


	2. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve always wanted to visit Highgarden.” 
> 
> It wasn’t technically a lie. He did want to visit Highgarden, if only for a chance to see those beautiful eyes once more, whoever they belonged to.

It was well past midnight when Sander returned to the Red Keep. He left his mount, Qelosi, on top of the city walls and alerted the guards of his return, before walking through the darkness back to his chambers. She was the last of the dragons, at least to his knowledge, and she had been loyal to him her whole life. _Qelosi_ —it was high Valyrian for ‘stardust’. He had named her for the night sky under which she had been born, full of stars as bright as the fire that had clothed them both. 

Sander often looked back on that night—the night of his rebirth. When he had walked into the flames and emerged unscathed, his clothes burned to ash, a newborn dragon on his shoulder. He had been full of purpose then.

Now, not so much.

It was strange, how having everything he ever wanted still wasn’t enough.

Sander reached his room and collapsed into the nearest chair, weighed down by exhaustion and his heavy riding leathers. Though it was late, he took a much needed bath, letting the warm water soak his sore muscles and pull him closer to sleep, though he knew it would never come.

Sander didn’t sleep. Ever.

It wasn’t for lack of trying; he had spent far too many nights awake in bed, fooling himself into thinking that if he lay there long enough sleep would be forced to drag him under. But it never did. So instead, he had taken to making himself busy as the rest of the castle slept; he would often go flying late into the night, or curl in his favourite armchair to sketch, or scribble down some half-thought-out plans for strategy meetings in the days to come.

Sometimes, if he used up enough energy throughout the night, Sander would find himself drifting off into the beginnings of sleep as the sun rose; just enough to function, never more than that. His head was full of noise, and the noise never let him rest. It was a truth Sander had resigned himself to long ago.

Tonight, however, the noise had subsided, if only a little. Tonight he had something else on his mind; beautiful eyes, a moonlit smile. He fell into bed, letting his eyes close as he curled into his pillows, a stranger's face on his mind. Sander knew he wouldn’t sleep. But that didn’t stop him from dreaming.

Almost a week later, Sander sat at the breakfast table as the Hand of the King read out the many letters he’d received that morning already. This had become routine; Sander would eat and listen, Noor would read aloud and give her advice. Most of the time, however, he simply let her take care of the correspondence. She had already proved to be the best person for the job, and that was more than he could say for himself.

Sander had met Noor Greyjoy in Braavos, almost a year ago, an exile from her house and country for reasons she preferred not to discuss. She had become his ally, and then his friend, and eventually, he had named her Hand of the King. There was no one he trusted more to help him rule the six kingdoms.

Noor understood that he was different. She knew about his trouble sleeping, his eternal restlessness. And when his thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, Noor knew what to say, how to help calm him so he didn’t burn out altogether. She had kept him afloat through everything, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

She could also tell when he wasn’t listening.

“Sander!” Noor snapped her fingers in front of his face, dragging him from the haze of his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry, I’m listening.”

“Then what did I just say?”

He stared blankly at her, unable to recall the words he hadn’t heard. Noor only sighed.

“Another invitation,” she said simply, passing him a folded parchment. Sander skimmed the paper, pausing when his attention caught on the word _Highgarden_.

He read the paper again. It was an invite to Olenna Tyrell’s name day celebrations, a week of festivities thrown by her eldest son. 

A week at Highgarden.

“This sounds fun,” Sander said, trying his best to sound nonchalant. Noor cast him an incredulous look.

“You don’t have to go,” she clarified. “The invitation is purely out of courtesy.”

“I know, I just…” He shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to visit Highgarden.” It wasn’t technically a lie. He did want to visit Highgarden, if only for a chance to see those beautiful eyes once more, whoever they belonged to.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. It’s a couple of weeks away, but I’m sure you’ll be happy to take care of things while I’m gone.”

Noor lifted an eyebrow. “Oh you’re sure, are you?” Sander only smirked. He turned back to his breakfast, but he could still feel Noor’s assessing gaze on him, like a weight pressing down.

“What?” he asked, looking up at her.

Noor furrowed her brow. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing’s up with me.”

“You seem…weird.”

He made a face at her. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious, Sander. You know, if it's happening again, you can always talk to me—”

“I said I’m fine, Noor. I’m fine. I promise.” He looked into her eyes as he said it, and she seemed to accept that as the truth because she nodded, turning her gaze back to the pile of letters before her.

“Fine. But if you really insist on going to this thing, you should take Britt with you.”

And there it was, the truth that sent his head spinning once more. So much for finding his beautiful stranger.

“Take me where?” said a voice from the doorway. Sander didn’t have to turn to know who it was, but he did anyway. Britt Lannister entered the room with all the grace of a lioness stalking prey, all fake smiles and perfect golden curls. She headed straight for Sander, leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek before taking the seat adjacent to him.

Sander took a breath, steeling himself. “There’s a party at Highgarden, in a few weeks. I thought, perhaps, you could join me,” he added reluctantly.

Britt’s face lit up at the idea.

“Oh, I’d love to! I’ve never been to Highgarden!” she said, her smile sickly sweet. Sander barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes, instead making a face at Noor the minute Britt looked away. Her responding look was barely apologetic.

“I think it would be good for the two of you to be seen together outside of King’s Landing,” Noor explained, ever the diplomat.

“Exactly,” said Britt, placing her hand on top of his. Sander forced a smile and went back to his breakfast.

It hadn’t been his idea to marry her. The Lannisters had been allies with the former Baratheon king, before Sander and his armies had taken back the throne. They were smart; they had sensed that Sander would be the one winning the war, so instead of fighting against him, the Lannisters had seized an opportunity. They had offered their support in return for his marriage to their daughter. And Sander, the desperate fool he had been back then, had agreed to it. He had seen it as yet another sacrifice in the name of the throne.

Now he was in a hole of his own making. And there was no way out.

Britt was tolerable enough, he supposed; she was just as controlling and overbearing as any Lannister, but he told himself she could have been much worse. Besides, Britt knew how to make people like her, and that was really all he needed.

It was all too much to think about. Especially since every one of Sander’s thoughts kept wandering back to a stranger in a moonlit garden.

“I need some air,” he said, pulling his hand away from Britt’s and standing. He left the room before either of them could respond.

Sander made laps around the gardens, grateful for fresh air in his lungs, before returning to his room to pace. Despite his permanent lack of sleep, he felt full of energy, all shaking hands and racing heart, a feeling he knew would only escalate. He needed an outlet. He needed to be busy.

It was still early; the morning light hit the vase of flowers on his desk at a perfect angle, sunbeams dancing across the petals. Sander dug out some paper and began to draw, his thoughts spilling onto the page with every line, every curve and stem and thorn. As he drew it felt like a weight was lifting, and when he finally held the finished piece up to the light he felt the tension in his body significantly less than before.

Sander cast the drawing aside and threw himself onto his bed. It was still neatly made; proof he hadn’t slept in it in a while. 

Perhaps a few days in Highgarden would be good for him. Sander needed a change of scenery, and he could trust Noor to keep the ship running while he was away. She pretty much already did. Some king he was, leaving all the hard work to someone else.

Sander closed his eyes, but his thoughts were still racing.

He didn't sleep.

The next two weeks moved painfully slowly, filled with endless hours of politics that Sander tried so hard to care about, to no avail. By the time the day came to finally leave for Highgarden, Sander was practically buzzing with pent up energy. He hadn’t slept. He’d let himself get excited for this trip, and now the excitement was threatening to overwhelm him. He needed to fly.

Thankfully, Britt had no intention of riding to Highgarden on the back of a dragon, which meant Sander could have at least a few hours away from her. He was grateful to be in the air again, away from it all. It gave him the space to think. The wind bit into his face and Sander closed his eyes, leaning into it, leaving most of his tension in the clouds behind him.

The flight was over too soon. 

He was welcomed to Highgarden by Lord Tyrell, a severe looking man whose smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Your Grace,” said the Lord, as Sander stepped down from Qelosi and into the courtyard. She flew away at his command, the beat of her wings echoing through the silent summer air. “Welcome to Highgarden. We are so honoured that you decided to join us for the celebrations.”

“I’m excited to be here. Your home really is beautiful.” And it was true. Up close Highgarden was like a dream, a castle half swallowed by nature, overgrown in a way that felt not unkempt, but magical. There was almost no telling where the tall white walls ended and the ground began, for the space was bridged by mossy vines and creeping trails of freshly budding flowers. It smelled beautiful too, like earth, and roses, and sun-warmed stone. It was certainly a nice change from King's Landing.

"My mother has invited you to lunch with her," Tyrell continued. "I'll have you shown to your guest room first to settle yourself in. Please let the servants know if you need anything."

"Thank you," said Sander, his attention wavering. He began to follow Lord Tyrell towards the castle, but as Sander glanced back towards the courtyard, something caught his attention. There, knelt in the bushes at the edge of the yard, was the very same young man from that night all those weeks ago. His heart skipped. In the daylight Sander could really see him, and he was beautiful; dark hair warmed by the sun, lips pursed in concentration as he dug through the flowerbeds. Sander wanted nothing more than to go to him and ask his name, but Tyrell was leading him away in the other direction, away to lunch and parties and more diplomacy. So he allowed himself one last longing glance at the boy, and followed.

Sander was shown to his rooms, a grand set of guest quarters reserved for monarchy. He barely acknowledged the space around him, instead heading straight for the window this minute he was left alone. It was a useless endeavor. His windows faced the wrong side of the garden, and the boy was nowhere to be seen.

Sander sighed. He knew it was foolish to let himself obsess over this person he didn’t even know. It wasn’t good for him. But he just couldn’t help himself.

Eventually, he distracted himself with a bath and dressed in something more presentable than his riding leathers, steeling himself for lunch with Lady Olenna. He just had to get through today. The beautiful stranger could wait until tomorrow.

Sander made his way outside once more, and was led to a table overlooking the stunning castle gardens, where Lady Olenna sat, sipping tea.

Though House Tyrell had supported Sander’s claim to the throne upon his return to Westeros, he had never met with Lady Olenna in person. He knew enough about her, of course, in particular her not so subtle nickname: the Queen of Thorns. Olenna wasn’t known for being especially gentle with her words, but then again, gentle didn’t win wars.

Olenna looked exactly how Sander had expected her to: modestly dressed, elegantly indifferent, with an expression that seemed mildly judgemental as she surveyed the young king before her. She didn’t get up to greet him. Instead, she offered a wrinkled hand with a look of challenge in her eye.

“Lady Olenna.” Sander kissed the back of her hand gracefully, offering a dazzling Targaryen smile.

“Your Grace,” she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her. “Please, have a seat.” 

Sander did. A servant appeared over his shoulder to pour him a drink, and Sander let himself lean back into the chair with a grin, feigning the cocksure arrogance of a king. Olenna smiled, cool and serpentine, and sipped her tea.

There was something about Olenna Tyrell that intimidated him; perhaps it was her age, or the fact that she seemed so unimpressed by Sander, despite all his best efforts. He tried to avoid shifting in his seat. It was hard sometimes, to act like the person he was supposed to be; a fierce Targaryen king, no hesitation, no fear. He did his best to make sure that the noise inside his head _stayed_ on the inside. It didn’t always work.

“I should start by wishing you a happy name day,” Sander said, desperate to distract himself. “Or is that not until tomorrow?”

“Oh please,” Olenna gave a dismissive gesture. “Enough of that nonsense. It’s bad enough that my son insists on throwing this ridiculous celebration, as if I’m in need of reminding how terribly old I’m getting.”

Sander couldn’t help but laugh. Olenna was a breath of fresh air, if nothing else.

She sipped her tea again, giving Sander an appraising once-over. “Did you know?” she asked suddenly, “that I was engaged to a Targaryen boy in my youth?”

Sander’s smile faltered, the only sign of his shock. “I didn’t.” _This should be interesting,_ he thought. “What happened? Did you decide you preferred flowers to fire?”

Olenna laughed a joyless laugh. “Not exactly. I took one look at the silver-haired fool and decided I would be better off with anyone else.”

Sander laughed again, this time less convincingly. Clearly she wasn’t impressed by his Targaryen heritage, and she wanted him to know it. It felt strange, to be seen for more than just his name and the colour of his hair. Sander found it both refreshing and somewhat terrifying. He mostly just wanted it to be over. 

He was about to attempt to change the subject when he sensed movement behind him, Olenna’s gaze fixing on something over his shoulder. She smiled, and it was a real smile; muted and regal as ever, but _real_. At once Sander was desperate to know what person or thing could possibly make Olenna Tyrell smile so bright, but he only had to glance to the left before he got his answer, as a young man appeared in his peripheral, stepping hesitantly towards the lunch table. 

It wasn’t just any young man. It was _him._

The boy from the garden.

He was so much more stunning up close. Sharp cheekbones, a mess of dark hair, and those eyes… They were the most beautiful eyes Sander had ever seen; warm brown and flecked with honey gold where the sunlight danced over his face. When the boy smiled—it was a tentative thing, small yet radiant—Sander found himself looking away, for fear of getting lost in it.

Olenna offered the newcomer a hand to be kissed, her smile still unnaturally bright. Dangerously so, in fact. “If it isn’t my favourite grandson,” she exclaimed.

_Grandson._

_Olenna Tyrell’s grandson._

Sander’s throat worked, though he fought to maintain his composure. It was fairly difficult, however, since the beautiful boy had now turned his full attention from Olenna to Sander himself. 

“I don’t believe you two have met,” Olenna prattled on, though the king was barely listening. “This here is the only one of my grandchildren worth meeting. Robbe Tyrell.”

_Robbe._

Even his name was beautiful.

Robbe looked as if he were about to bow, the thought of which alone was almost unbearable, so before the boy could incline more than his head, Sander rose from his chair with as much grace as he could muster and offered a hand.

“Sander Targaryen,” he said, masking his discomposure with an arrogant grin. He could have sworn the whole of Highgarden could hear his pulse racing.

Hesitantly, Robbe took his hand. “Your Grace,” he said, to Sander's disappointment. He wanted him say Sander's name. "Robbe Tyrell."

“It’s a pleasure, Robbe.” He liked the way the name sounded on his tongue, delicate and elastic. Their hands lingered a little too long before breaking apart.

It was Olenna who spoke up, cutting the tension. Whether or not she had noticed it was impossible to tell, she still had the same air of elegance and mild boredom as before.

“Would you join us, Robbe, dear? We were just about to have lunch.”

“I’d be happy to, grandmother.” Hesitantly, Robbe took the seat between them, sending Sander a glance that was difficult to read; apprehension, and a slice of something else, something deeper.

Or perhaps Sander was searching for something that wasn’t there, and Robbe was simply in nervous awe of the Targaryen king before him, just like everyone else who came face to face with him. All they ever saw was his silver hair, the story behind it. The rest was unimportant.

He didn’t need an unrequited obsession. Sander had enough to think about already: six kingdoms to rule, a council to appease—not forgetting his blushing Lannister bride, who was mere miles away now and getting closer by the minute.

It didn’t stop him from stealing a few glances throughout lunch, however. Sander played his part well, ever the swaggering young king. Olenna wasn’t interested in small talk, so instead he dazzled her with handsome smiles and his most interesting tales of battle, throwing back glasses of wine until his head was buzzing, the noise hushed ever so slightly, and not for long. Every time his gaze wandered back to Robbe, which was far more often than he meant too, he found the young man smiling intently, as if hooked on his every word. Sander wasn’t surprised, he knew how to charm even the coldest of courtiers, but there was something about this particular look that made a warm sort of feeling settle inside of him.

Eventually, once their plates had been whisked away and their conversation had started to waver, Olenna rose from her chair. “I have some things to take care of before the rest of the guests arrive,” she gave as her excuse, smiling between the two boys. “Perhaps Robbe could show you around the gardens this afternoon, since you seem so interested in them.”

Sander barely restrained himself from grinning like a fool. His expression must have come across as too aloof, however, as Robbe quickly said, “I don’t have to, of course. Not if you don’t want to—”

“No, no.” Sander let himself smile this time, a sliver of honesty. “I’d like that very much.”

He could hardly believe his luck as Robbe smiled back at him.

Ten minutes later, with Olenna retired to the castle and the sun creeping lower in the sky, Sander and Robbe walked side by side through the beauty that was Highgarden.

“So,” Sander started, breaking the silence that had settled over them. “Which of these flowers is your favourite?” Robbe looked up at him, brow furrowing slightly. “I saw you earlier,” Sander clarified. “Knee deep in the flowerbeds. I assume you must know a thing or two about gardening.”

Robbe nodded, his cheeks turning an exquisite sunset pink. Sander wanted to capture that colour and bottle it, to take it out on a rainy day, to paint the colour across his canvas and frame it.

“Well, your Grace—”

“Sander,” he corrected, cutting him off. “Just Sander.” He needed to hear him say it. Their two gazes met, lingering again.

“Sander.” The name sounded so much better when he said it. Robbe cleared his throat, looking away. “I’ve…been helping in the gardens since I was a child,” he explained. “I love it, seeing things grown, knowing I helped nurture them into existence. And I like to be busy.”

Sander felt inclined to agree. He knew what it was like, that desperate need to stay occupied, to distract himself from the deafening roar of his own thoughts. He wondered if Robbe’s reasons were the same as his.

“So,” Sander prodded. “Favourite flower? You must have one.” 

Robbe’s answering smile was electric. He led Sander back through the gardens, past fountains and flowerbeds, to a small bush near the castle, littered sparingly with bright white blossoms. Though they were small, the flowers were extraordinary, almost iridescent, like flecks of starlight against the dark foliage.

“They’re known as star-buds.” Robbe half-whispered. “For exactly the reason you’re thinking.” He glanced back at Sander, and they shared a knowing smile.

“They’re hard to grow. They need very specific conditions, and even then it’s rare to see even this many blossoms.” He crouched beside the bush, running his fingers over the petals. “But it’s worth it in the end, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do,” Sander said under his breath, enjoying Robbe’s fixation on the small buds. “Beautiful,” he added, but he wasn’t looking at the flowers anymore.

He was looking at Robbe.

They walked some more, Robbe naming plants as they went along, happy and comfortable in his element. Sander couldn’t help but be mesmerised by him, by the contented smile as he rambled about roses and summer lilies, at the way he greeted everyone they passed with bright eyes and kind words. He seemed to be a favourite among the castle staff, and Sander could see why. Robbe was like a ray of sunshine, his spirit as bright as the flowers that he loved so dearly.

“I’m sorry,” Robbe said eventually. “I’m probably boring you with all this garden talk.”

“Not at all.” Sander smiled down at him. “I find it fascinating.”

Robbe dipped his head, seeming suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sure you have far more interesting stories to tell, anyway. You must have travelled all over Westeros, and further.”

“It’s true,” Sander confessed. “I’ve seen the world at its most beautiful...and at its ugliest.” His smile faltered at that, though he was quick to recover it. Sander didn’t wish to be reminded of all the awful things he had seen—and done—on his way to the Iron Throne.

Robbe seemed oblivious to his hesitancy. “Which is your favourite, of all the places you’ve visited?”

Sander groaned at that, playfully shaking his head. “That’s not fair. They're all so incredible, I couldn’t possibly choose just one.”

“Come on!”

“I’m serious. I’ve watched the sun set over the pyramids of Meereen…and rode with the Dothraki hoards of the Great Grass Sea…” He glanced back at Robbe, who was smiling, enthralled by the pictures he painted with his words. Sander had the sudden urge to show Robbe his real paintings, the mess of canvases back at the Red Keep that depicted each of these beautiful places. “It’s impossible to choose only one,” he continued, “when I see so much beauty wherever I go.”

“But you must have a favourite,” Robbe said softly. “A place you always go back to.”

He was right. Sander closed his eyes and saw it at once: familiar sands, stone walls and towering dragon gargoyles. _Home._

“I suppose I do,” he whispered, eyes still shut tight. He could almost feel the bitter wind on his cheeks, hear the lapping of waves at the rocky shore. When he opened his eyes Robbe was staring back at him, the look on his face so complex it was indiscernible. He wanted to paint that face, more than anything else at that moment.

Until a voice broke him out of his haze, painfully familiar and calling his name. Robbe stirred as well at the sound, clearing his throat loudly and looking away, but not before Sander saw the colour flooding his cheeks.

Sander forced himself to turn around. They had somehow walked as far as the main courtyard, where guests were starting to arrive for dinner, flocks of ornate carriages and nobles on horseback filling the space. There was one carriage amongst them that Sander recognised all too well, and descending its steps was the source of the voice, waving a pretty gloved hand. She made a beeline for Sander, head held high and smiling with all the pride of the lioness she was.

“Your Grace,” Britt said again as she reached him. “How lovely of you to come and meet me.” 

Sander didn’t bother trying to correct her. Britt leaned forward, placing a kiss on his cheek with the air of an animal marking its territory, before her gaze settled on Robbe. He had somehow moved further away from Sander since Britt’s arrival, and offered nothing more than a timid smile as he noticed her attention on him.

“Won’t you introduce us?” Britt asked, turning back to Sander. Her hands had found a home in his collar, and Sander resisted the urge to pull away as she caressed the hair at the nape of his neck. He gave Robbe what he hoped came across as an apologetic look.

“Britt, this is Robbe Tyrell, Lady Olenna’s grandson. He’s been kind enough to show me around Highgarden.” Sander took a deep breath, not wanting to say the next part out loud. “And this is Britt Lannister, my fiancée.”

“It’s a pleasure, Lady Britt,” said Robbe bowing his head politely. The news couldn’t have been a surprise to him, almost all of Westeros knew of their engagement by now. But Sander could have sworn, though it was foolish and wishful to even think it, that Robbe’s smile was not as bright as it had been.

Sander was so caught up in the thought that he barely heard Robbe excusing himself. Before he had a chance to respond Robbe was turning away, heading back towards the castle and leaving Sander alone with Britt, and everything else he had left behind that afternoon. The noise in his head flooded back then, all at once, filling every crevice of his mind once more.

He hadn’t noticed until it returned, but every second spent with Robbe that afternoon, the noise had for once been silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to say thank you so much for all the positive feedback on the first chapter! Sorry it's taken so long to get this next part up, I've been struggling quite a bit with my mental health and just haven't had the energy to write as much.  
> But it's finally here! I hope you enjoy this chapter and stick around for the next part, it shouldn't take as long this time!
> 
> I'm @sander-schmander on tumblr if you want to come say hi, my asks are always open!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I always appreciate any feedback you can give me :)


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